Clove's Hunger Games
by SapphireFlames1
Summary: We all know Clove as the ruthless, knife-throwing girl from District Two. But what is it really like inside her head? The Hunger Games from Clove's POV. Rated T just in case. Reviews are appreciated!
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games, as much as I wish I did.

I stretch and yawn, sitting up in my small, soft bed. It takes me a moment to remember why my lips are curling up in a grin and excitement is rising within me.

Today is the day of the reaping.

I throw off my sheets and my toes brush the cold floor of my bedroom. I dress quickly, throwing on a random navy blue dress that floats around my ankles. Then I cross to my door and yank it open, scurrying cat-like down the stairs, not making a sound. I reach the hall to the kitchen and see my older sister, Lia, standing there making her coffee. I tiptoe silently toward her. She has no idea I'm here. Smirking, I reach out and grab her shoulder.

She shrieks and drops her mug of coffee, splashing most of it on the counter. When she sees it's only me, she exhales in relief, but can't resist sending a glare in my direction before snatching up a dishrag to wipe the liquid off the counter.

"Dammit, Clove!" she snaps, throwing the dishrag onto the counter. "How many times have I told you NOT to do that?"

"Don't know," I reply, taking some bread out of the refrigerator and popping it into the toaster. "Hundreds, I expect." I sit down at the kitchen table and relax back in my chair, smiling at my sister. We argue sometimes, but I love her to death. She was my rock after my parents died from typhoid fever five years ago.

Lia sits down across from me with what's left of her coffee, fixing me with her piercing grey-blue eyes. Lia and I are the opposite of each other in looks, her being fair and blonde and me being tanned and unmistakably brunette.

My toast comes out of the toaster with a pop and I stroll over to get it, setting it on a plate. When I slip back into my chair, she's still staring at me. Okay, this is kind of unnerving.

"What's up, Lia?" I say loudly, snapping her out of her reverie.

She sighs and eases her flaxen hair over her shoulder, setting her mug down on the table.

"Look, Clove. I know what you're going to do today, and I won't let you."

I raise my eyebrows at her, as challenge. Coming from District Two, she can't fail to recognize it, and she looks angry.

"Clove! I'm serious! You cannot volunteer. You're only fifteen, for goodness sake! You'll get yourself killed.

I feel the heat rise in my cheeks. Killed? I could not be killed. I am much too fast, too skilled, and too smart.

"They couldn't kill me!" I laugh cockily. "When I get into that arena, they'll quake in their boots when they hear my name! Lia, you can't stop me from volunteering. Don't you want to be rich, don't you want a beautiful home?"

Lia stands up, speaking loudly for one of the first times in my memory. "Of course I do, who doesn't? What I don't want is you shipped home from the Capitol in a wooden box!"

I jump out of my chair and march toward the door, yanking it open so forcefully it leaves my grip and slams into the wall. I whip back around to face Lia. Her eyes are hard and determined. I glare at her and stalk out, slamming the door behind me.

As I enter the square, I forget about Lia and my eyes rove the crowd, searching for Shalom. Shalom and I met on the first day of school, and we've been inseparable since.

I find her almost immediately, wearing a deep green dress with a low neckline and looking tall in four-inch heels.

She hurries toward me, her auburn curls springing up and down as she totters over. I catch her in my arms and hug her tightly, knowing she's nervous but also knowing that she has nothing to worry about.

After all, I'm going to volunteer.

Shalom and I head over to the fifteen-year-old section, shoving other kids out of the way so we can a good spot up front. I purposely slam into Ariane Trice, almost knocking her to the ground, and snigger.

"Whoops," I laugh, "Sorry, you just always seem to be in the way."

She steps forward with a snarl, but a Peacekeeper steps in and pushes us apart. I scowl at them, but since Ariane stumbled into the girl in front of her and then fell over, I can't feel too bad.

Everyone is shouting about how they're going to volunteer kick ass in the Hunger Games, and I can't help but smile to myself. No way. I am going to volunteer, and I will be the first up to that stage. No matter what.

The mayor walks toward the podium and looks out at the crowd, then begins to read. He reads the history of Panem in a dull, droning voice that makes me want to fall asleep. The people in the crowd start to murmur to each other, and I click my tongue. Can we get started already? I rock back and forth on my flats in happy anticipation. The Hunger Games are mine this year. I can feel it.

The crowd quiets down a bit when our escort, Sierra LaTour, steps up on stage, her high heels clacking and ridiculous bright magenta lips spread in a wide smile.

"Happy Hunger Games!" she cries, looking like she's never been more excited in her life. "And may the odds be ever in your favor! My, what an honor it is to be here in District Two! I think we'll have a victor this year, am I right?"

The crowd yells out an affirmative and I join in, since that victor is going to be me.

Sierra click-clacks her way over to the ball with the girls' names and with a bright smile, she reaches her manicured hand into the ball, fishes around for a minute, and pulls out a name.

I tense my muscles, preparing to lunge forward and yell as loudly as I can. Out of my peripheral vision, I see Ariane leaning forward, preparing to do the same. My resolve strengthens tenfold. I will NOT be beaten by some cowardly, bitchy fool like Ariane. Sierra opens her brilliant magenta lips to read the name.

"Ellie P-"

"I VOLUNTEER!" I yell as loudly as I can and run up to the stage.


	2. Chapter 2

I sit on one of the smooth velvet chairs in the Justice Building, thrumming my fingers anxiously on the seat. I know Lia will come and visit me, and so will Shalom. I hope they don't cry. I can't stand people who cry, and after all, I'll be seeing them again in about three weeks.

I lean back in the chair and let my mind play over the reaping, smiling at the memory. Ariane looked murderous, and I got a huge cheer when I sauntered up to the stage. Once Sierra managed to calm the crowd down, she walked over to the bowl with the boy's names and, like in my case, she hadn't even finished reading the name when an incredibly muscular blond boy jumped up and yelled that he wanted to volunteer. His name is Cato.

I frown, thinking he might actually be a threat.

And then Lia bursts into the room and crosses over to the couch, throwing her arms around me and tenderly kissing the top of my head as if trying to comfort me.

"Lia!" I mumble, embarrassed, "I'm fine! I volunteered, don't you remember?"

She pulls back from me, her eyes rimmed with red (oh no, she is crying) and gives a gusty sigh. "You really want to do this, don't you?"

"Yes, Lia," I say, "I really, really do. Don't worry." I put my hands on her shoulders and stare right into her eyes, rich brown into grey-blue. "I'm coming home."

A tear falls out of one of Lia's eyes and she hastily wipes it away. "Well, alright," she sighs through a watery smile. "But when you come back, you have to give me a spot in your home in the Victor's Village."

I breathe out a sigh of relief and hug her close. "Don't worry," I whisper. "I will."

She pulls back and her eyes search my face. "Good luck Clove," she says softly. "I love you."

"Love you too," I say, beaming up at her. "See you in three weeks."

And then she's gone.

I sit in my luxurious compartment on the train, staring out of the window at the brilliant sun high in the sky. We'll be in the Capitol in about three hours. Thinking about how District Twelve has to make a day-long journey to get here, I smirk. Poor bastards.

Shalom, as I predicted, came to see me. She gave me a hug, told me to be strong and pressed a small silver object into my hands. Upon closer examination, I realized that it is a tiny earring, and earring from Shalom's very favorite pair. If we weren't so close, I wouldn't understand the meaning behind this gift, but I know for a fact that Shalom will wear the other earring from this pair, and only that earring, while I'm away. So we'll be united, even though I'm so far away from home.

I hear Sierra knocking on my door, telling me it's time to come and meet out mentors (as if I haven't been around Brutus and Enobaria my entire life) and that it's time for supper. I call out an okay, then I hear her move on to Cato's door, telling him the same thing.

I push myself up on the silky sheets of my four-poster and slide off the bed, grinning from ear to ear. I'm in the Hunger Games! I'm going to bring pride to my district! I march confidently to the door and throw myself out of it, practically plowing into Cato, who is coming out of his own room.

"Sorry," I mutter, tossing my hair over my shoulder.

"That's quite alright," says Cato, though I can see that he's amused.

"Well," I say, puffing up with indignation, "I'm not used to examining the area on which I walk for brawny people that practically take up the entire hallway!"

I bite my lip. Shit, that was lame. I look over to see Cato holding down a laugh and I smack his arm lightly, causing him to shove me playfully. I like Cato. He seems-

No! No, Clove! You can't go making friends with your district partner, that will just make him twenty times harder to kill. And I don't know why, but the thought of killing Cato makes my stomach twist.

We enter the dining room and I see Brutus and Enobaria, accompanied by Sierra, sitting at the table. In front of them is some of the most delicious-looking food I've ever seen. It's not like I've ever been starved in District Two, but still… that food is tempting.

Brutus is basically the older version of Cato, tall and muscular, except with brown hair instead of blonde and perhaps less handsome. Enobaria… well, I can't really say what Enobaria looks like because I can't quite see past her pointed golden teeth.

I give them a confident grin and sit down in my shiny chair, picking up my fork to eat. I'm aware of the fact that they're both eyeing me carefully, but I ignore them, trying to look as tough and threatening as possible. I sneak a quick glance over at Cato, who is next to me, and see that he is doing the same thing as I am.

"You're small, Clove," says Brutus. His voice is slow and even, as if he's measuring every word. "What are you're strengths?"

"I can throw knives," I say immediately. "I can throw knives better than anybody at the academy. I'm fast and can dodge almost any obstacle. And as for being small…" I smile. "It can either be a strength or a weakness, depending on what you choose."

Brutus only nods, but I can see he's impressed. He turns to Cato next and opens his mouth to speak, but Cato interrupts him.

"Swords, spears and hand-to-hand combat," he rattles off easily. "I'm the strongest at the back at the academy."

Enobaria smiles, a slightly menacing sight because of her pointed teeth. "I don't doubt that," she says. "Can you run quickly?"

Cato shrugs arrogantly. "Not as fast as some, but I've got good endurance. And after all, it's not like I'll be chased by any of the tributes." He smirks.

Ha. As if. The other tributes will be terrified of him, not the other way around. I shove another forkful of pasta into my mouth and wash it down with some rich, creamy milk.

"Well!" says Sierra brightly when we've all finished our supper. "Let's go and watch the racap of the reapings, shall we? You know," she leans toward Cato and I as if she's about to share a huge secret. "We're almost in the Capitol!"

Cato and I exchange a look and walk past Sierra into the sitting room, her looking slightly crestfallen that we didn't jump for joy and run around squealing at her words.

When the reapings start, I'm not expecting much. Only a few really stick in my mind, especially the massive, dark-skinned boy from District Eleven, Thresh I think is his name. I think a fight between him and Cato would be something to see. The Capitol audience must be beside themselves with excitement about that one.

Then it's District Twelve.

The buildings there are grey and crumbling, and the citizens all look terrified. I'm secretly hoping one of them will throw up on their way to the stage, it'll be something to laugh about later.

The escort (who looks A LOT like Sierra) walks over to the glass ball with the girls' names. She fishes around for a moment and plucks a name out, reads it out loud.

"Primrose Everdeen."

A tiny, white-faced girl who looks about eight years old walks out of the crowd and starts shuffling up to the stage, scared but determined. She's almost there when an older girl with black hair comes running out of the crowd, shouting her name. It's probably her sister, judging by the panicked look in her eyes when the older girl pushes the younger one behind her.

"I volunteer!" she gasps. "I volunteer as tribute!" I turn to Cato and raise my eyebrows, shocked. Volunteers in the Career districts are common, sure, but in the outlying districts, they're… unheard of.

When the girl mounts the stage, she looks impassive, and Effie Trinket asks her what he name is.

"Katniss Everdeen," she replies and the screen goes black.

"Sorry!" Sierra chirps, "But we're out of time. We have arrived in the Capitol!"


	3. Chapter 3

"Goodness, your hair is thick!" laughs a member of my prep team, a tall, thin woman named Kay with bright orange hair. Her accent is high-pitched, with clipped words. Talk about annoying. I resist the urge to roll my eyes, squirming on my chair. I've always hated makeup.

"We just need to give you the finishing touches and then you'll be ready!" cries an overexcited man called Darrius. "I must say, with a little makeup and some actual style in your hair, you're rather pretty!"

I grit my teeth. I wouldn't have cared if he had said I looked like an ape or if he had said I was the most gorgeous girl he had ever laid eyes on. This is the Hunger Games, for God's sake! Does he really think I care what I look like?

Of course, he probably does. It would probably be his primary concern.

Kay, Darrius and Marion exit the room to fetch my stylist, and I scoop up a mirror, sighing in relief. They didn't plaster my face with their goopy makeup and I don't look like a complete idiot. Thank goodness. I set the jewel-encrusted mirror back down on the table next to me, wondering what my costume will look like. A couple years ago, the tributes from District Two were dressed as stone, because our principal industry is masonry. They wore huge, bulky costumes and looked absolutely ridiculous. I hope my stylist is better than that.

The door opens slowly and a middle-aged woman walks in. Her hair is spiky and done in lime green, and swirly tattoos in every color of the rainbow start at her lips and cover her cheeks and forehead. However, behind all the freaky Capitol attire, I see smile lines by her eyes.

When she sees me, her face lights up.

"My, my!" she gasps in her silly Capitol accent (although I'm grateful to hear her voice isn't as high in pitch as Kay's). "You are very nice-looking, you'll fit into the costume perfectly! Oh, and my name is Oliana," she adds as an afterthought. I notice she's holding a large black bag that probably holds the costume itself.

"What is the costume this year?" I ask, slightly apprehensive. Not rocks, not rocks, not rocks…

Oliana gives me a conspiratorial smile. "Oh, you'll love this one, dear. You and your district partner will be dressed as… Greek Gods!"

Oh thank God. No rocks.

Right now, Cato, Oliana, (who volunteered to accompany us) Brutus and I are heading down to the bottom floor of the Remake Center. I'm standing right next to Cato, and I nudge him when I spot the tributes from District One, who are leaning against their chariot. They are spray-painted silver (okay, I'm really glad I don't come from District One), in tunics glittering with jewels. The girl (Glimmer, I think is her name) is leaning talking to her male district partner, wearing a flirtatious smile.

"Should we go and talk to them?" I murmur to Cato, who is watching them thoughtfully.

"No," he replies. "Best to wait for them to come to us in training. Show them that we're in control."

"Alright," I say, "But we're not taking allying with them I they're wimps." I smile, and Cato smirks back at me. "Deal."

He steps into the chariot and offers me a hand. I take it, and can't help but notice how warm it is, rough and calloused from years training in District Two, strong and firm around mine…

I mentally slap myself. I can't go liking him! The Hunger Games are mine this year, remember? I can't afford to get sidetracked.

Now in the chariot, I let go of Cato's hand and turn to Brutus, who is saying our names, trying to get our attention.

"When you get out there, you'll get big cheers," says Brutus. "Don't ignore them, but don't act too flattered either. Win their favor, but don't be all starry-eyed. Got it?"

Cato and I nod to show we heard and understand and with jolt, our chariot starts forward.

As Brutus predicted, we get tumultuous applause from the Capitol citizens. I assume it's partly because of our costumes (they are cleverly designed, making us look powerful and dangerous but attractive) and partly because we're us, Cato and Clove, the small but tough-looking girl and the tall, muscular boy from District Two.

I grace the crowd with a tiny smile, and wave slightly, even blowing a couple of kisses. However, I stand straight-backed and proud. The crowd loves us, and I'm really getting into it when all of a sudden there is an odd hush, then the crowd goes wild, stamping their feet and screaming at the top of their lungs… What? Are they saying District Twelve? I can't turn around right now (I would topple out of the chariot for sure) but Cato and I exchange a tiny glance before quickly turning and facing the front again.

The moment our chariot comes to a halt at President Snow's mansion, I whip around. And what I see is… astonishing. The tributes from District Twelve (the male turns out to be a strong, stocky blonde boy with kind blue eyes) are on fire… but they're not burning. Their stylist must have found to way to recreate actual fire… shit. Yeah, Cato and I look great, but setting your tributes on fire? How the hell is anyone supposed to compete with that?

Cato looks furious, but I just straighten my back even more and look haughtily up at President Snow. I mean, it's District Twelve! They'll probably both be gone by the end of the first day of the Games anyway.

We listen to the President's welcoming speech and then, before I know it, it's over. The chariot is entering the Training Center and Brutus, Oliana and Sierra are there waiting for us.

"You did marvelously!" cries Sierra, tottering up to us and giving us each a pat on the shoulder. "The crowd loved you!" She appears oblivious to the fact that we were not the best, not by far, and apparently, so is Brutus.

"Great!" he says. "You did well, both of you. You certainly made a lasting impression."

Cato raises his eyebrows, incredulous.

"What about that District Twelve? They were on fire, for God's sake! Did you see how much airtime they were getting?"

"District Twelve?" Brutus laughs. "They're nothing to be concerned about. The Capitol loves underdogs, they're just trying to get a good show."

As we walk toward one of the elevators, heading for our rooms, Oliana squeezes my shoulder.

"Never underestimate your enemies, dear," she whispers in my ear, then turns around and walks away.

I shake my head, surprised. Is she right? Should I really think of the pair from Twelve, of all places, as serious competitors? No. She's just concerned for me. But… No, that's stupid. They're from District Twelve! I stalk toward the elevators behind Cato and Brutus, annoyed, trying to push the flaming pair from my mind.


	4. Chapter 4

The next morning, after a hearty breakfast, Cato and I head down to the training rooms.

I'm dressed in a nylon, form-fitting black t-shirt and stretchy black pants. The leather shoes I'm wearing on my feet are comfortable (usually I hate the feel of new shoes, but these are an exception) and my hair is done up in a high ponytail at the top of my head.

When we reach the gymnasium, some of the other tributes are already gathered there, mostly the ones from the random districts like 6 and 9. But then I see the two from 1, Glimmer and what's-his-name, heading toward us, and I inconspicuously nudge Cato. I don't need to look at him to know he's understood. Cato and I start to walk over to the small circle of tributes, coolly ignoring the Glimmer girl and her partner.

The boy steps right in front of us (that's a little cocky) and smiles, saying, "Hi, you're Cato and Clove, right? I'm Marvel. And this is Glimmer." Marvel points to her, and I see that she's making eyes at Cato. For some reason, this pisses me off, and I say quickly, "What can you do?" It comes out harsher than I meant it to, and Glimmer's looking all pouty. Oh my God, I haven't even known her for five minutes and already I can't stand her.

"Well," says Marvel, "I'm good with a spear, and I'm really good at hand-to-hand combat." As I try not to laugh while picturing the outcome of a fight between this boy and Cato, I turn to Glimmer. "And you?" I ask, while Marvel and Cato strike up a conversation on my right. Looks like Cato has accepted Marvel as part of our pack.

And clearly he has no interest in Glimmer, who beams at me in response.

"I can use a bow and arrow."

"Are you good?" I ask, annoyed.

She shrugs. "Sure. And I'm also really good with a mace."

Seriously? A mace? She has to be lying. But I can't tell, because she's always got that stupid flirty smile on her face.

"Fine," I say resignedly. "You're in."

"Awesome!" she says, clearly not picking up on the fact that she is really the last person I'd want for an ally. "Oh, look, District 4!"

Cato, Marvel and I turn around and see a spry-looking girl with long, white-blonde hair and a small boy whose face is scattered with freckles. The girl looks like she could be a good ally, but the boy…

"He's too small," murmurs Cato, and we all nod our agreement.

The girl from 4 sees us and nods in our direction, striding over. The boy seems to know he's not wanted, for he scurries over to join the tributes in the circle.

"Hey," says the girl from 4, who has reached us and is smiling, not cockily, but confidently. "I can throw a trident, run very fast, and I'm quite good at hand-to-hand combat. Allies?"

I look at her in surprise. I like her already, which is the opposite of how I felt about Glimmer when I met her. She seems smart, clearly she's got some skills…

"Okay," Cato says, clearly thinking along the same lines. "You're a Career."

"Cool," she responds, "My name is Saralyn, by the way."

The five of us saunter over to the tributes gathered around Atala, the head trainer. I subtly do a quick count of the tributes. 22 of them are here. District 12 is missing.

And then there they are, walking nervously into the gymnasium. Wow, that girl is skinny. She probably doesn't weigh more than…

"Oh my goodness, they're dressed exactly alike!" whispers Glimmer, and I roll my eyes. Leave it to Glimmer to notice what they're wearing, of all things. But upon closer examination, I realize that she's right. That's weird. I mean, they'll have to kill each other in the arena anyway, so why pretend to be besties?

But Atala starts talking, wrenching me out of my thoughts. She's talking about the training schedule, the stations…

I tune out eventually (being from District Two, I know all this stuff already) and look over at the Fire Girl from District Twelve. She's glancing around at all the tributes, and when her gaze falls on me, I make sure to shoot her a look of pure contempt. She looks away quickly and focuses on Atala, and I smirk. These people are so easy to intimidate.

When Atala finally tells us we can go, I make a beeline for the knives, while Marvel and Cato head for the spears. Glimmer and Saralyn trail behind me, and I realize that while Cato is the leader of the pack, I'm still high up in the pecking order.

Ignoring the two of them, I pick up a huge knife with a blade so sharp I'm sure it could cut through stone. Easily, with what has become a natural extension of my arm, I send the knife straight through a dummy's heart, smiling as I see Cato do the same with a spear.

Glimmer has picked up a bow and arrow and has loaded it easily, while Saralyn hefts a trident. Saralyn hurls the trident through the air and into a dummy's chest, and I nod in approval, sending another knife whistling toward my own dummy, not even paying attention to what I'm doing.

Glimmer still hasn't shot her arrow. She's facing a target, pulling at the string of her bow and frowning. God, if it takes her this long to shoot, what's the use of even having her in the pack? Although, her looks could win us some sponsors. Pondering this, I just can't resist calling, "Glimmer, in the arena you'd be dead by now!"

Glimmer turns around and pouts at me.

"I was only trying to get the feel of the weapon!" she whines. "Fine, I'll shoot." She releases her arrow and misses the center of the target by a couple of centimeters. Okay, not that bad. She'll just have to train hard and she might actually be an asset.

I turn around and survey the other tributes, sending a knife at the dummy with my back to it. I don't have to turn around to know it went exactly where I wanted it to go, since a lot of the other tributes are staring at me, clearly terrified. Pathetic.

After throwing some more knives (seriously, this is too easy, they should have some moving targets) and a couple of spears, Saralyn and I head over to the axe station.

"It might actually be cool to learn how to use an axe," says Saralyn. "I mean, it's not a very common weapon."

"True," I mutter. "But that's because all the other weapons are better." I was taught how to use an axe in District Two, but I never really liked it. I do best with my knives.

The axe station is right next to the camouflage station, and I see Fire Girl and her district partner (from what I can hear of their conversation, their names are Katniss and Peeta) painting themselves to match trees and grass. Seriously, why waste time at boring stations like that? As our trainer talks about the correct stance for wielding an axe, Katniss and Peeta chat about the bakery back in District 12. They're not ever going back there, so really, why talk about it?

That day at lunch, us Careers all sit together, laughing, making fun of the other tributes and tossing bits of food into the air, catching it neatly in our mouths. We're the only tributes that ever sit together.

"Hey," says Marvel, "Look at 12."

I whip around and, sure enough, Fire Girl and Peeta are at the same table, laughing in what is clearly a forced way.

"Why are they acting all buddy-buddy?" I say, frowning. "Have they made, like, a pact not to kill each other or something?"

Marvel laughs appreciatively. "Yeah," he says, "Maybe they think they'll be the final two, and they're just going to lay down their weapons and stand there staring at each other until the Gamemakers blow the victory trumpets."

I laugh at Marvel's joke, and I feel a pang of something. I'll have to kill him in a few weeks. And Saralyn, and Glimmer (although Glimmer might not be such a problem) and Cato.

No. I won't have to kill Cato. The chances of us being forced to do battle are very slim. I sigh, thinking of my promise to Lia. I will come home, no matter what the cost. I will be the victor of this year's Hunger Games.

The next couple of days are the same. Handling the weapons easily and scaring the pants off the other tributes, eating lunch in the dining room, and steering clear of the survival stations. On the day of the private session with the Gamemakers, I don't have to think hard about what my demonstration will be.

"Knives," I say to Cato, who has just asked me this question, even though I'm sure he already knows the answer. "You?"

"I don't know," he replies, leaning back comfortably. "I'll just do whatever feels right, I suppose."

I nod. Cato is good with every weapon in that gymnasium. It doesn't matter which one he chooses, of course he'll get a high score.

They summon Cato, and he disappears through the door. About twenty minutes later, they call me.

I march into the gymnasium and give the Gamemakers a confident smile. Then I stride over to the knives, picking four of the biggest ones and walking over to stand in the center of the room. I draw back and, quick as a flash, I let a knife go, and it pierces the dummy right through the center of the forehead. Then I whip another knife through the air and it skewers the dummy right through the heart. Another one in the abdomen. And I saved the best for last. I draw my arm back and let the fourth knife fly, where it hits the dummy right in the groin. I glance briefly at the Gamemakers, all of whom are wincing and nodding in approval, murmuring to each other with impressed looks on their faces. But I don't care. I'm in my zone, that special zone that is reserved for when I throw my knives. Nothing can mess me up now.

I jog back over to the knife section and pick up four more knives, these ones smaller and more aerodynamic. I sprint back over to another dummy, leaping over a crate full of axes (showing off my speed and agility) and throwing a knife through the dummy's chest just before I hit the ground. Then I turn around so I'm no longer facing the dummy and throw two knives, with my left hand this time. I hear the whistle and then the thud, confirming that I've found my marks (the head and abdomen). The Gamemakers are whooping now, excited to see my superior skill. With my last knife, I scurry backward, nimbly jumping over the crate again. I close my eyes and, from a long distance, pierce the dummy's heart once again.

Smirking, I walk out of the gym.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Hi guys, this is just a short chapter about Clove and Cato's reactions to the training scores, because I know I haven't updated in a while and I feel guilty. Also, I would like to thank my wonderful reviewers… you guys are great.

Hope you like the chapter.

I'm tense, seated on the plush living room couch in my Training Center home away from home.

Waiting for my score.

Of course, I know it'll be good. I didn't miss the mark once. The Gamemakers even cheered, so I can't blame myself for feeling confident. I settle back on one of the lime green couch cushions. The night where the scores are televised is usually pretty exciting for a Career tribute. We always score the highest. This, I'm sure, is a time in which District 12 cannot overshadow us.

"Hey," says Cato, settling down comfortably on the couch beside me. I smile back at him, saying playfully, "Bet I'll get a higher score than you."

Cato arches an eyebrow and says, "Not a chance." He puffs out his chest arrogantly and I roll my eyes. "The Gamemakers loved me."

"Well, we'll see, won't we?" I smirk.

Brutus and Enobaria join us then and I lean forward in anticipation. This is it. This is the moment when I will receive my brilliant score.

It had better not be lower than a nine.

Before I know it, Marvel's face, accompanied by its usual cocky expression, is flashing up on the screen, followed by a nine. Glimmer receives a nine as well, which surprises me. Maybe the blonde girl from District 1 has a few more tricks up her sleeve than I'd thought.

Next is Cato, and I feel him tense up beside me as his handsome face flashes up on the screen, and…

Ten.

Cato whoops and punches a fist into the air. Brutus cheers as well and claps him on the back, and Enobaria gives a small smile (thankfully, I have come to find Enobaria's pointy-toothed smiles less scary over time) and then it's my face on the screen.

I won't go so far as to say I'm nervous… no, I don't really get nervous… but I am a teeny bit… well, my stomach's kind of clenching, let's put it that way.

I let out a sigh of relief as the number ten comes onscreen.

Brutus gives me a clap on the back as well, and I grin ecstatically. I turn to look at Cato, ready to gloat about my score, and almost surprise myself when I pull him into a hug, my hands lightly pressed against his muscular back, breathing in his warm scent. His strong arms wrap around me in response, and I get a massive urge to just cling to him, just stay in his arms forever, but I have to pull, away, so I force myself to.

It was only about a two-second hug, but time seemed to slow down and it felt like longer.

I grin cockily up at Cato to hide my awkward feelings and laugh, "Well, looks like we're evenly matched for now."

He laughs, but his smile doesn't quite reach his eyes, which seem troubled, as if a new and alarming thought has just struck him.

I turn my attention back to the screen and see that we missed the scores from District 3 (of course, I doubt it matters, they probably both got twos or something) and I'm looking into Saralyn's intelligent, deep blue eyes. The number eight is below her picture, and I'm surprised she didn't score higher. Oh, well. I shrug it off. Maybe the Gamemakers just prefer knife-throwing.

The rest of the scores are predictable, except for the little girl from 11, Rue, who manages to achieve a seven. Huh. I wonder what she did. I raise an eyebrow at Cato, who looks faintly surprised, and I can tell he wants to figure this out too. Not that seven is such a wonderful score, but from someone so small, it is rather… surprising.

At last, when I'm feeling a little tired and wanting to get to bed, the face of Peeta from District Twelve flashes up on the screen, and then the number eight.

"What?" I say, pissed off. I was sincerely hoping to see the two from 12 put in their rightful place. "How does that happen? How does a boy from District 12 manage a score like that?"

"Don't know," sighs Brutus, looking thoughtful. "He's pretty stocky, maybe he did some weight throwing or something."

"Yes," murmurs Enobaria, "But an eight is not a fantastic score, so don't worry. He will, I expect, be dead in the first few minutes of the Games.

The way Enobaria says this, like she's talking about the weather, creeps me out a little, but I manage to turn my attention back to the screen.

Katniss Everdeen… the Fire Girl… this should be good.

Eleven.

"WHAT THE HELL!" I shriek, jumping up and slamming my fist onto the hard, polished surface of the coffee table so hard a shooting pain runs all the way up my wrist, but I ignore it. "How can some wimpy little girl from the poorest, most disgusting district, manage a score like that?"

Cato is looking, if possible, even more murderous than me.

"How the fuck is that possible?" he growls, his voice dangerously low. "This is ridiculous. What could she possibly have done to deserve THAT score?"

"Well," says Brutus, "I suppose we could… could…"

I shoot Brutus, who looks rather panicked, a death-stare. "Oh, don't worry, Cato," I say, sounding scary even to my own ears. "We'll get that bitch in the arena, and let's just see who comes out on top."

Without waiting for a response from anybody, I storm into my bedroom and slam the door.

A/N: Hope you enjoyed! Review please, I love to hear your feedback.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Hey everyone, so hopefully this chapter will finish up our time in the Capitol before the tributes all go into the arena! This one might be a little longer than other chapters, since I want to give fairly extensive coverage of the interviews… anyway, have fun reading!

"Sit up straight!" snaps Sierra LaTour, giving me a tap between the shoulder blades. "You can't _slouch_ in front of all the Capitol citizens and look like some… barbarian!"

I grit my teeth, willing my allotted time with Sierra (in which she is supposed to teach me "proper decorum" or something) to be over. In the last hour and a half, we have gone over walking like a lady, sitting like a lady, speaking like a lady…

It is becoming very hard not to slap her.

Cato is currently with Brutus, which is probably much more tolerable than being trapped in a room with this crazy, controlling woman, who by the way, asked to see Cato and I separately so she should work on our "respective shortcomings". So you can why I'm not very _thrilled_ with my escort at the moment.

She sits down and studies me, pursing her brilliant magenta lips. I stare back at her with my eyes widened slightly, trying to look as innocent as possible. Maybe then she'll _let me go._

"Well, I believe that's the best I can do," she says finally, giving a small sigh. _Thank God._ I jump up and scurry toward the door. As I close it behind me, I hear, "You know, when someone dismisses you, the polite thing to do is-"

The door slams and I'll never know what she was about to say. Not that I care one bit.

The wind blows through my smooth dark hair, sending it in all directions. A small smile comes onto my face, a contented smile. I like it up here, on the roof. The brightly colored Capitol buildings somehow look less overwhelming, next to the clear blue of the sky and softness of the clouds.

My coaching session with Brutus was quite short. I mean… really short. I walked in and sat down, and he said, "So I assume you'll go with the ruthless and sarcastic but sweet angle?" I said yes, he asked me a couple of questions, told me I was fine, and dismissed me.

I decided to come up here, to think. The day after tomorrow, I'll be in the arena. I frown slightly, not sure how I feel about that. I mean, excited, of course… but I have a kind of nagging feeling… it'll feel weird just… killing. Not that I won't, not that I'm freaked out about it or anything. It's just, the problem is, I know the tributes are people now.

Not like when I volunteered.

I hear soft footsteps behind me and whip around to see Saralyn, her blonde hair pulled up in a high ponytail, her blue eyes sparkling in the sunlight.

"Hey," she says, flashing me a smile. "Done with your coaching sessions?"

I laugh slightly. "Yeah, thank goodness."

She sighs. "Know what you mean. My escort made me practice smiling until I felt like my face was going to fall off."

Rolling my eyes, I mutter, "These Capitol people have such twisted ideals."

Saralyn's lips quirk up slightly at one side, not in a smile but in a sort of thoughtful expression. "You're right, I suppose."

I raise my eyebrows at her. "Are you kidding me? Have you met one person from the Capitol that _isn't_ makeup-oriented or constantly gossiping about their so-called friends?" I think of Shalom. I wonder if she's worried about me. She must be. I quickly touch the tiny silver earring in the pocket of my fitted beige Capitol pants. Yeah, she is.

Saralyn gazes at me. "Well…" she says slowly. "I guess… you could say… that I like to give people a chance. You know, before I decide what to think about them." She's still looking at me with those wide, sea-blue eyes.

I prop my elbow on the railing, facing away from her. She's an interesting person, Saralyn. But I don't want to be her friend.

Because if I win, she dies.

Abruptly, I push away from the railing. "I have to go," I say. "Have to… talk to my mentor about strategy."

Saralyn gives me a searching look. She can probably tell what I'm thinking.

"Okay," she says finally, "Good luck with the interviews."

"Yeah," I nod. "You too."

And I walk away.

Waiting onstage with the rest of the tributes, cross my legs at the ankle like Sierra showed me and smirk at the audience. I'm wearing a strapless gown, deep ruffled orange at the top and growing lighter as it falls in a waterfall of sunset color to my feet. My hair is up in a loose bun of some sort on my head, holding a shiny ponytail, which is sitting at the top of my head, in place. The dress, to my surprise, is quite comfortable, and the ponytail is more me than any elaborate bun would have been.

I spot that Katniss Everdeen, sitting way down the line, dressed in a gown that looks like (what else?) it's on fire. The gems on her skirt catch the lights and make her appear to be engulfed in flames. I don't know about anyone else, but I'm getting sick of this whole fire thing.

The interviews begin fairly quickly, after Caesar Flickerman makes a few quick jokes. Glimmer glides toward him in a _very _see-through gold gown, smiling at the crowd and giggling, tossing her hair. I almost fall out of my chair with relief when her interview is over. I don't how she wears that dress… she must be at least a little uncomfortable.

They call Marvel next and he struts up to join Caesar. He's cocky and arrogant, but charming, making the crowd laugh with his little jokes and winning them over.

Then they're calling "Clove Highfield", and it's me.

I can very honestly say I'm not nervous when I walk over to Caesar and shake his hand. This is a small thing. Besides, I have to do well if I want sponsors. No sense appearing all pale and terrified if you can avoid it.

"So, Clove!" beams Caesar. "How are you finding it here in the Capitol?"

"All right," I reply, smirking slightly. "But as you know, I didn't come here to enjoy the delectable food, Caesar."

He laughs. "Looking forward to getting in the arena, are we?"

"Well, of course. I'm _quite_ looking forward to it." I let the "quite" hang there for a split second before finishing the sentence, and let my smirk grow wider. I can just imagine the looks on the faces of the other tributes. Terrified, I expect.

I'm quite comfortable here, and these questions are all easy… except for one.

"Do you have any family back home?"

Shit! Dammit, Caesar, why did you have to ask me that? I can't start gushing about how much Lia means to me. And then I get an idea.

"I do, Caesar. I have a sister. And," I pause, hearing a hush fall over the crowd. "I can't wait to get back to her after I _win_."

The buzzer goes off and I shake Caesar's hand one more time, returning to my seat. You can hardly hear them call Cato's name over the deafening screams from the Capitol people. They're so loud you can practically feel the floor vibrating.

Cato does well in his interview, being truly ruthless, and I know he will have tons of sponsors, although the same would have been true if he had just sat there, being so muscular and… well… handsome.

Most of the interviews are not memorable, and I zone out. After District 4, you usually just get a bunch of terrified people muttering and wiping their sweaty hands off on their clothes.

Breaking out of a daydream about what I could be eating for dinner right now instead of wasting my time listening to these bores, I feel Cato nudge me slightly as Katniss Everdeen walks nervously across the stage. It's been driving me insane, wondering how she got that eleven. She doesn't look like anything special, that's for sure, hidden behind all those fancy flames.

My lip curls with contempt as she stutters out her first answer, her voice low. Of course! She gets the highest score in training and she's nervous about three minutes of questions and answers.

I tune out again, but only for a few seconds. _"Now, Clove,"_ I remind myself, _"This girl is potentially one of your most dangerous adversaries. Pay attention to her interview."_

"What did you think of that costume?" Caesar is saying. When Katniss answers, "You mean after I got over my fear of being burned alive?" I assume they're discussing the chariot costume.

She starts to talk about how it was "the most gorgeous costume she'd ever seen" and how she "couldn't believe she was wearing it". Then (is this some kind of joke?) she gets up and starts to_ twirl_. Seriously, she's spinning around, all flames, and giggling! She has to lean against Caesar for support, for God's sake!

"Seriously?" Cato murmurs in my ear. "This is the girl who got an eleven?"

"I know," I whisper back angrily. "This is ridiculous!"

Katniss says something about her sister (the one she volunteered for, I guess, I don't know if she has more) and goes back to her seat, to be replaced onstage by her male district partner, Peeta, the one who scored an eight. I look at the muscles in his arms and decide that he probably did throw some weights around. Okay, good, so he's no big mystery.

He banters with Caesar, drawing some huge laughs and cheers from the crowd. I had been wondering if the District Twelve angle was just to appear extremely stupid or if they had no angle at all, but Peeta's angle is clear: likable. And it's working. Well, sort of. My hate for him certainly isn't as strong as my hate for Katniss, but at the same time… well, a score of eight, while not unattainable, is nothing to make light of.

Then Caesar asks Peeta if he has a girlfriend back home. Peeta replies that he does, in fact, like someone. He seems reluctant to answer, until Caesar says, "So, here's what you do. You win, you go home. She can't turn you down then, eh?"

"I don't think it's going to work out. Winning… won't help in my case," replies Peeta, looking highly uncomfortable.

"Why ever not?"

"Because… because… she came here with me.

You could hear a pin drop in the room right now. I widen my eyes. You have got to be kidding me. I swear…

Just wait until the arena.

I can tell that Cato is thinking the same thing, judging by the furious look on his face. We're both tired of being outshone by the tributes from District 12. Nothing and no one could have compared to a declaration of love for a fellow tribute.

Then they're showing Katniss's face onscreen. Her mouth is open and she's blushing. But…

Then it hits me. This whole thing is a setup. Whether Katniss knew about it or not doesn't matter, the whole thing was a ploy to get sponsors! Oh, they'll pay for this.

"Wouldn't you love to pull her back out here and get a response?" Caesar is asking the crowd, and they go crazy, wanting desperately to hear about this so called "relationship" from the girl "in love". God, it makes me mad.

"Sadly," Caesar says, "rules are rules, and Katniss Everdeen's time has been spent. Well, best of luck to you, Peeta Mellark, and I think I speak for all of Panem when I say our hearts go with yours.

The crowd cheers and the interviews are over, leaving me with a lot to think about.

A/N: As always, I really appreciate reviews! Hope you enjoyed the chapter!


	7. Chapter 7

My eyes open blearily to see the gray light of dawn streaming through the curtains. A smile curls up my mouth as I remember the reaping, and how I woke up with exactly the same feeling churning in my stomach- excitement.

I know I was having odd thoughts yesterday, but I have those down to a place where I don't have to think about them. I volunteered for this, I promised I'd come home… well here I am, and I will go home.

I'll bring pride to my district.

Oliana enters my room and gives me a shift to wear (until I get my arena uniform, I suppose) and I follow her to the roof, where a hovercraft materialises and a ladder drops down. I know how this works. There is a current running through the ladder that freezes you in place, and then you have your tracker inserted. Your tracker helps the Gamemakers to know where you are in the arena, and whether you are dead or alive.

Sure enough, as soon as get my hands and feet on the rungs, I can't move an inch. Once I'm inside, a young woman wearing a white coat comes toward me and explains the tracker, then inserts it into my forearm. I feel a small twinge, but it's not a big deal. Some of the other tributes are probably crying and moaning in pain, but I say if you can't handle this, you sure as hell can't handle the arena.

Oliana is retrieved from the roof and we are directed to a room with a big Capitol breakfast sitting on the table.

"Make sure you eat," says Oliana. "You'll need the energy in the arena."

She's right, of course. But this is really like any other day for me. Get up, eat breakfast, shower… I'm not nervous about the Games- I can eat all I want.

I'm just finishing my last piece of toast when the windows black out, indicating that we're nearing the arena. I smile for a second (we're so close!), then fight it down, determined to look stoic and impassive, even if it is just Oliana and some random Capitol people on the hovercraft.

We land and Oliana and I receive directions to my chamber, an underground "Launch Room" where I will shower, dress, wait, then enter the arena through a tube.

I take an icy shower (to make sure I'm woken up) then brush and floss my teeth. Oliana does my hair in a high ponytail so it's off my face and helps me into the clothes that all the tributes will be wearing in the arena- tawny pants, light green blouse, brown belt, and my favorite item, a thin, hooded black jacket. I can tell the material is designed to reflect body heat, which will help, but I love the way the jacket almost moves with my body, as if it's part of me. I slip into the equally flexible boots and do some light jogging around the room, getting used to this new clothing. I stretch the muscles in my legs and arms, and give Oliana an excited grin. It's almost time.

Almost time for the Games to begin.

I'm reluctant to sit down (I want to keep the muscles in my legs active and warm) so I keep moving around the room, going through everything Brutus and Enobaria told us about the Hunger Games in my head. By the time a chipper female voice announces that it's time for launch, I know I'm prepared, and I feel even more so when Oliana presses a small object into my hand.

Shalom's earring! I had forgotten about it. I slide it into my jacket pocket, sticking the hook into the fabric so it'll stay. Oliana guides me over to the tube and smiles at me.

"I have complete confidence in you, Clove," she says, touching my shoulder.

I smile back at her and state the truth. "I have complete confidence in me, too."

The cylinder begins to rise and I'm enclosed in darkness. Then I feel the air change, and I'm thrust up into sunlight. I'm blinded for a moment, but I smell pine trees and catch a glimpse of sparkling blue that might be water to my right. Good. Perfect. I'm ready to run, ready to fight. I adjust myself on my pedestal as the voice of Claudius Templesmith, the announcer, booms across the arena.

"Ladies and gentlemen, let the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games begin!"


End file.
